


Detrimental Alchemy of the Social Basket Case

by R_Quarion



Category: L.A. Noire
Genre: Angst, Arson, Death, Fire, Foreshadow, I Made Myself Cry, Mentions of PTSD, Minor Character Death, No Spoilers, Other, Pyromania, Sad, Satanism, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771296
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/R_Quarion/pseuds/R_Quarion
Summary: Herschel Biggs is known as a social basket case. And while yes, his struggles from the war have a part in that, it is not the sole reason. Cole asks a few questions of his new partner and finds out that Biggs isn't the 'social basket case' people claim him to be.
Relationships: Herschel Biggs & Cole Phelps, Herschel Biggs & Edward Leville
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	Detrimental Alchemy of the Social Basket Case

**Author's Note:**

  * For [L.A. Noire Discord Server](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=L.A.+Noire+Discord+Server).



> Warning: sad themes and character death.

Phelp’s smile broke out once every few days. It was more than Biggs had ever been able to muster, without his head heavy in the midst of his work. _I don’t do partners,_ he remembered telling McKelty, _you know that, Cap._ Irritating but not surprising, he found. Biggs thought that maybe after all of his time in arson that his captain would come to respect that choice. However a job was a job, he was an employee, and his employer would always overrule that. So there he was, sitting next to LAPD’s Golden Boy turned infamous asshole and yet, somehow, was coming to appreciate those few moments where Phelps was to smile. It took a week for Biggs to realise it was because he saw youth in Phelps.

A chance of redemption.

“Social basket case.” And it was random, obsolete statements like that which flicked Biggs’ switch and made him frown instantaneously.   
“Pardon??” He leant back a bit, as if rearing, to take a look at Phelps who still had his eyes on the road.   
“Social basket case. That’s what they call you.”   
Biggs, if he were to smoke, would have flicked the ash in Phelp’s direction.   
“So?” Biggs wanted to stop the conversation that had not started.   
“So, why is that?” Persistent, almost to a fault. Phelps took a second to glance at Biggs who’s stare had narrowed.   
“Don’t you know to not ask about war stories…”

Biggs looked away to gaze out the window. There was a flickering of lights as the sun began to set over L. A. and drown the city in deep shadows. Biggs’ eyes watched the milling of people around clubs they passed, starting a young night. It had been a long while since Biggs had felt like the night was young. The darkness of arson’s smoke had plunged his days into darkness too. Blue pastel skies to be no more. 

_Who does Phelps think he is?_ Biggs had to wonder. War hero, legend from Sugarloaf, shining star of the LAPD, reduced to an arson investigator after an affair scandal. That was _exactly_ the thing; Phelps was someone different to most people. To ask Bekowsky, one would hear praise embedded in banterous jabs. To ask Galloway, one would hear that he was good to cover a smoke break. To ask Earle, one would hear backhanded comments about _the one who got away_ only to backpedal and snap at the notion of adultery. To ask Biggs… _well_ Biggs only cursed at Phelps internally, not aloud. The simmering of painful memories was not something he was about to experience boiling over. Holding his tone back, self-restraint was a trait he was known for. Phelps just _had_ to push him.

“I’m not talking about Belleau Wood… I know about Leville.”

If Biggs had been driving the car, he would have slammed the breaks. He could picture it clear as day; the whiplash entirely worth the pain just to let Phelps know _just_ how out of place such a comment was. Instead, Biggs had his nails clawed into his own thigh, leaving imprints of anger.   
“Choose your next words carefully, Phelps.” There was some pain he couldn’t repress as much as he willed.   
“So Earle _wasn’t_ lying…” Phelps breathed the words as if he hadn’t meant to say them at all. That set Biggs’ veins on fire. Boiling blood and seething rage all held back by a fracturing facade.   
“That half-witted arrogant chump, I’ll ring his fucking neck--”   
“Woah, Herschel, take a breath.” Phelps’ tone was too understanding for Biggs to snap at as a follow up,   
“Did he insult Ed?”   
“No, barely said his name, I… did some digging…”   
“Christ, Phelps…” Biggs held his palm over his face with his eyes squeezed shut. “Who gave you the right to bring back ghosts of my past?”

It was true that the war had left Biggs with damage much deeper than flesh wounds. Belleau Wood had left him with a trauma that had changed his life. As wrong as it was for Phelps to have gone digging, he had not been wrong about Belleau Wood not being the _whole_ reason for not working with a partner. While surviving the war when his team did not was a confronting reality; that confrontation had peculiar and unexpected measures. After joining the LAPD and being paired with a new up-and-comer from Patrol, Biggs had decided maybe that the presence of another voice was stopping his own voice in his head. Insistent to consider times and places where Biggs had sometimes wished had been his last memory.

Edward Leville had been his first and intended last partner, until Phelps, that was. 

“No one gave me the right, Biggs.” Phelps admitted, “I wanted to help understand…”  
"Why?! I couldn't give a _shit_ about your broad that fucked over your career? This is a job, not an autobiography.”   
“ _This is a job_.” Phelps repeated, tone as steady as it ever was. “You’re my partner. Why you have refrained from having a partner in the past is of my utmost concern. I have to know whether I can rely on you.”

That was, as much as Biggs hated to acknowledge it; a fair concern. 

“Edward Leville was my partner after I returned from the war… war ended in 1919 but they didn't give me a partner until 1939... two decades it took them to think I was _ready_...” Biggs sighed, moving his eyes to stare out the window. It was a story that’s passages had never seen the outside air. Repeating it was never something he had planned on. Phelps fell quiet, knowing not to push. And yet, Biggs kept talking. A recount that was finally seeing the light of day. 

The thing about Leville was that he had been absolutely and undeniably genuine. 

Biggs could remember the look on Leville's face on that first day he was moved to arson.   
"What are you, a child?" Biggs had scoffed as the young man took a seat beside him.   
"Twenty two, actually." He had laughed. Voice just as high pitched as Biggs' had expected it to be, "Leville. Edward, Leville."   
He had held his hand out. Eyes not dropping contact, large, hazel and full of youthful enthusiasm.   
"Hershel Biggs." The return handshake wasn't aggressive but firm.   
There was something in Leville's face that had Biggs sure that he would be the _exception_ to his dislike of partners. Short cut brown hair, a defined square-esk jaw that Biggs would kill for, button nose and ears that's stuck out just a bit, he was what most would consider to be cute. In all of the word’s lackluster attempt at description. Not a face for the bad-cop gig but that was okay, Biggs had that under his wing already. 

Leville had been wearing navy on that first day. Suit newly pressed and a tie, pastel blue, to accompany it.   
"You're the one with experience. Consider me at your every demand." Leville had offered, rustling through papers with no particular order.   
"I'm glad you're stuck with me, kiddo. There are a few here that would abuse such dedication. Like Roy, stay clear, he’s trouble..."   
Leville had looked up from his books to stare Biggs directly in the eye. Like a deer in headlights. Nervous beyond comprehension. It was then that Biggs noticed the silk that rounded Leville’s hat. Pastel blue matching his tie and embedded with sewn in patterns. Swirls of dark blue wrapping around its entirety. Biggs remembered that he had turned his nose up at it,   
“I like your attitude, I don't like the hat.”

It didn't take too long for Biggs to consider Leville one of the good guys. Worked relentlessly, a quick thinker and refused to give up no matter what. Admirable beyond what was expected of him. Especially when he caught a big case clue. What had seemed like an unconnected series of fires was eventually pieced together to be intentional hits. 

If there was one criticism that Biggs had for Leville it was that he was _too eager_ . Too eager to follow the lead, too eager to get ahead of the game, too eager to evaluate the risks, too eager to wear that _stupid_ hat with pride. Biggs was very much the opposite. The war had left that imprint on him. Nothing to ever be as seemed, nothing was easy. Leville took that head on, not caring for the whiplash it would leave behind.

It didn’t take long for Leville to find names of potential places or suspects. The young detective was able to see patterns like no other,  
“Woah, woah, calm it down kiddo.” Biggs had laughed lightly. This particular evening, Biggs had gone to switch the lights off only to find he was not the only one left in the offices. Leville was hunched over so many papers that it gave Biggs a headache. Lines and scribbles, annotations and notes, all decorated bent pieces of paper. There was a pen in his mouth, ink smudged over his lower lip, “didn’t I tell you to go home about two hours ago?”   
“Yes, but, Sir look!” He vaguely gestured to the papers. Biggs placed his hands on Leville’s shoulders and leant over where he sat in the chair,   
“You're gonna have to explain that there…” 

Oh, Biggs had essentially asked for an essay.

“Okay, see, here. The first three fires when looked at on a map, create a triangle.” Leville moved the pages sporadically, “sure, any three _could_ make a triangle but this one is equilateral! So I started looking over the case notes, and you know how there was that awful smell?”   
“Wish I could forget it…” Biggs murmured,   
“Well I went looking and… I think it’s sulfur. Why sulfur? _Well_ cases of satanic alchemy are known for using sulfur, and…” he flipped the pages until he presented a strange symbol, “the satanic symbol for sulfur is a triangle, equilateral, over a cross.”

Biggs was rendered speechless at the find. Strange, he was becoming much more interested in how Leville’s brain functioned.   
“We have to get to these places here!” Leville had marked places on the maps, “I think the next fires will be in any of these places, they match the alchemical symbols to the best of my calculations…” His gaze returning to the papers to stare at the roads. Silence flooded them for a few minutes. “I can go now, who knows when---”   
Biggs’ hands tightened around Leville’s shoulders to keep him in his seat,   
“Woah okay slow it down kiddo… _tomorrow._ ”   
“But--”   
“None of that, okay?” Leville’s eyes admitted defeat.   
“You know what, Ed?” The youthful detective looked up with hopeful eyes,   
“What is it, Sir?”   
“I still hate that hat.” Biggs had to laugh at the automatic pout that Leville’s lips formed, “now, get back to wherever you call home and be sure to get a good night's rest! We’ll follow this sulfur lead tomorrow, good job kiddo.”   
The pout formed a proud grin. Nearly ear to ear.

Biggs didn’t know it then but that would be the last time he ever saw his partner. 

The tides changed after that night. As if the moon grasped harder than it ever had before to shake the world to its core.  
“Where’s your better looking half, Biggs?” Earle had yelled at Biggs from the other side of the office the following hazy winter's morning. He had frozen where he stood, panic hitting him like a tidal wave.   
“Here… isn’t he?” Biggs had looked over his shoulder to where Earle sat with his other, less irritating colleagues. Leville had promised to meet him within the hour, preferably at quarter too. But as Biggs ducked his head into the office, Leville’s seat was empty.   
“Nah.” Earle blew smoke into the air and edged his hat up with a flick of his finger, “scurried off a good twenty minutes ago. Something, something ‘ _it will be too late’_.”

The world crashed around Biggs at that very moment. 

“Fuck.” Dropping the papers in his hands, he was out the door before Earle could quip back at him. The world hazed over for Biggs. The sirens were the only noises to accompany him in the car. It felt so absent without Leville’s clicking of pens or tapping of his foot. Sweet syllables of songs, no more. There were only screaming sirens to occupy the space. After checking the first two places that Leville had written in his notes; the call had come in.

_KGPL to any Central unit. Meet the officer, a hit and run felony at Sixth and Abbey. Any unit able to handle, Code Two identify._

Biggs had responded with great fear in his heart. The crime scene had officers at it, all avoiding him as best they could the second he had showed his face. Until the detective in charge met him,  
“I’m sorry, Biggs.” Was all that needed to be said. A knife to the chest would have hurt less. “We’ve got the hit and run bastard. Managed to steer him off the road.” The officer nodded to a man in handcuffs on the footpath dazed and delirious.   
“Who is he?” Biggs _needed_ to hear it, as he approached the man.   
“He’s your firebug.” The man on the curb didn’t speak a word. But, the tattoo of the exact symbol Leville had drawn said enough, “your partner scared him out of the place, he stole the car, floored it all the way over here, hit the pedestrian. We got him after that but, we haven’t seen your partner. Reports say there was an explosion.”

Biggs hadn’t heard the explosion over the sirens but the second the word had been said, he was back on the road. The clouds of smoke and ash lead him straight to it. The smouldering remains was something Biggs never wanted to have to see. Beneath the ash and remnants of a body lay a small slip of fabric. Pastel blue interwound with navy patterns. Scorched on both ends, smudged with ash, patterns barely recognisable. Tears spilled onto it, soaking the soot into the fabric further. Biggs fell to his knees, hands managing to shakily retrieve the fabric remnants of what was unmistakably from Leville’s hat.

“I’m sorry, Herschel.” Phelps had muttered upset at the revelation, it was clear as day in his eyes. Darkened and glazed over, contemplating his own losses adding to the mix.  
“I failed Ed.” Biggs stuck his hand into his pocket. From it, he pulled a pastel blue slip of silk.   
“T-that was his?” Phelps had stopped the car but kept the engine humming away,   
“Yeah.” Sniffling, Biggs rubbed his eye with his knuckle and laughed sadly, “I hated the damn thing. He kept it on his hat, I thought it was horrendous.”   
Phelps smiled at the sentiment,   
“It’s not that bad.” He was happy to see Biggs’ smile grow slightly,   
“Roy even complimented it once… when he wasn’t berating Ed for being so young or for being a stickler for perfectionism…” Biggs turned it around to the other side that must have been lying in the embers. It was much more damaged, colour nearly entirely obscured by the remnants of souls. “I keep this with me. Everyday. Don’t know why, never known why…”   
“Because Ed was like a brother to you.” Phelps had analysed it more than Biggs had ever allowed himself to, “you loved him like family.”   
Swiping his thumb over navy swirls, Biggs swallowed harshly and furrowed his brow.   
“Something like that. He was this picture perfect example of innocence. He was what I fought in the war for. For future heroes. Much like yourself, Cole.”

Phelps smiled to himself, looking out over the busy streets of L.A. and whispered,  
“You didn’t let Leville down, Herschel.” Phelps whispered, meeting eyes with the older gentleman, “he’d be as proud of you as you were of him.”   
Biggs looked right back at him, tears that had welled only leaving redness in his eyes.   
“I hope that’s true. You remind me of him… don’t be leaving me too soon, hey?”   
“Not planning on it, Herschel.”

**Author's Note:**

> Okay made myself sad why did i do this


End file.
